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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307693">Independence Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomsandxfiles/pseuds/lovelyavengers'>lovelyavengers (fandomsandxfiles)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack Thompson Things [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Agent Carter (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Mob, Domestic Violence, Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Murder, Implied Sexual Content, Period-Typical Sexism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:07:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27307693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomsandxfiles/pseuds/lovelyavengers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  
</p><p>You lived in a bitter world, but after finally making it to the top, you get to call the shots. What happens when a dashing SSR agent tries to take that away from you?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Thompson (Marvel)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack Thompson Things [27]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Let Freedom Ring</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi! I'm Tori, and this is my third Jack Thompson multi-chapter fic.</p><p>This series is a little different from what I normally write, so that's why I'm adding this note. There are a few things I think people should know before they make the decision to read it or not. I have made the decision to tag this as "mature," not for sexual content, but for other stuff that is intended for more mature audiences. </p><p>Please look at the warnings in the tags before you read. This is an intense fic in some places. </p><p>If you're interested in listening to my playlist for this fic, you can listen to it on <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1HpnbZXjOJm3dlZSarg2F3">Spotify</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLBn951Cw3DMT4RVDNvkwCLDiRKNhL5KeX">YouTube</a>.</p><p>You can also find me on tumblr @lovelyavengers for fic and @fandomsandxfiles for anything else!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of domestic abuse, period-typical sexism and misogyny, drinking, some strong language, murder</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You lived as a ghost in your own house. Everything you did was in silence, and you were growing tired of it. You hadn't signed up to be a trophy wife. And John had come home drunk last night. Again.</p><p>Most days you asked yourself what you did to get stuck like this. Stuck in a loveless marriage to the mob king of New York, who didn't give two shits about you. That was evident by the pain you still felt in your arms and middle, and it was sore when you stretched too far. But even if you could go back in time and stop yourself from marrying Johnny "The Kid" Natale, you weren't sure if you would. Your situation wasn't ideal, but you were helping your family.</p><p>You didn't ask to marry into the mafia, but your father was in debt to the family. It was an accident that you met Johnny in the first place, because he ran into you as he was leaving your father's house, after threatening him with death and dismemberment. Apparently, he had been so enamoured with you that he offered to have your father's debt wiped out if you agreed to become his wife. He seemed like a sweet guy at first, so you agreed.</p><p>And for a while, you didn't regret that decision. It wasn't until about a year after you were married that he started to show his true colors. He started to stay out all night and come home still drunk the next morning, leaving you to take care of everything in the house. He wasn't faithful either, and you knew that because he made you wash and press his dress shirts and remove the stains from the lipstick-stained collars. You were the one to wipe away the evidence of debaucherous nights out, in shades of red you definitely didn't wear. It wasn't like you cared though, those other women could have him. Maybe he'd find someone else he liked better and you'd be set free from this hell-hole. He was an angry drunk too, and he used his fists to convey messages of disapproval, often throwing you around like a rag doll. It wasn't uncommon to see you wearing dark sunglasses indoors as well as outdoors, and long sleeved dresses and blouses on even the hottest of days. If anyone noticed the hell you were put through on a daily basis, they didn't say anything.</p><p>Soon, you couldn't take the abuse anymore. You would dream of getting out, of escaping the cruel hand of your husband and starting a new life across the country. California seemed like a good place to live, and you stared wistfully at papers adorned with photos of the Hollywood sign when you passed the news stands on the street. But those dreams were never more than just that, dreams. You continued to live like a ghost in your own house, with fear and pain the only emotions you were ever allowed to feel.</p><p>You played the role of the mob king's wife when you went to family functions. Johnny was always careful not to hit you the week before he had to show you off on his arm. You were nothing but a prop for him. In a way, you enjoyed those galas, weddings, and funerals, because you could almost forget the pain you had been through. Short dresses, high heels, and dark makeup became what you looked forward to, because it meant that you would be able to get away from the nightmare that was your daily life, away from the prison you called home. You drowned your problems at the open bar, finishing glass after glass of white wine, but even the sweetness of the spritzers couldn't mask the sour taste in your mouth as you remembered this was only for one night. You felt like Cinderella, except you knew that no prince was ever going to come to whisk you away from the horrible life you led.</p><p>When Johnny started talking about having kids, that's when you knew you had to get out. Apparently, in the past when the head of the mob got married, nine months later a baby would be born, an heir to the throne if you will. But Johnny never brought up having kids around you, at least not until now. The thought of having a child with that monster, being chained to him forever, was sickening. You delayed when you could, feigning headaches and sickness, but you knew that wouldn't work forever.</p><p>It was after one particularly bad night that you started to hatch a plan to get out. You could disappear, move across the country, and start a new life with a new name, away from all the pain and sorrow that followed you around New York City.</p><p>But even that wasn't enough. You had barely gotten out of the city when Johnny caught on to what you had planned, and soon he had dragged you back to the house. <em>You were his</em>, he kept repeating as he drove through the city, with you handcuffed in the back, crying silently. You had said the vows when you agreed to marry him, and they were non-negotiable.</p><p>That night was one of the worst you'd ever experienced. You didn't normally cry when Johnny would hit you, but the tears wouldn't stop. He shoved you against the wall and pushed his knee into your side. The pain was unbearable, and your vision blurred. "You don't get to leave," he said, practically spitting in your face. "You're mine, and don't you forget that, bitch."</p><p>He released his hold on you and your legs felt like jelly. You crashed to the ground, hitting your head against the wall as you fell. He gave you a look of pure disgust and kicked you hard in the stomach before whirling around and slamming the door. Your ribs were broken, you knew it. You didn't even have the energy to lay down in the bed, so you stayed there on the floor, bloody and broken, tears still streaming down your face.</p><p>***</p><p>After that, you weren't about to make the same mistake again. It wasn't just about leaving anymore, it was about revenge. This was a war, and you couldn't afford to lose another battle.</p><p>You bided your time, playing the part of the submissive little housewife, all while observing your husband's every move. And one summer night, everything began to fall into place.</p><p>It started with a drink, laced with something you practically had to sell your soul to get. But it was odorless and tasteless, and a little bit in Johnny's brandy had him passed out on the couch much earlier than normal, his arm dangling over the side. Then you got to work.</p><p>The house was old to begin with, but a little gasoline couldn't hurt.</p><p>The final touch was a smoldering cigarette, placed in his grip so that it was precariously dangling from his fingertips, almost certain to hit the floor eventually.</p><p>You had already packed what you needed, so you bid goodbye to the house and drove away, a knowing glint in your eye.</p><p>You stopped at the grocery story, taking care to say hello to those that you recognized, and to have a lengthy conversation with the cashier that scanned the items. You took the long route home, but it turned out that you didn't need to. When you turned onto the street, you were greeted with firetrucks and police cars, and they were all surrounding your house. You had to hide your smile as you got out of the car to the sight of the house, flames peeking out the windows and smoke rising high into the sky. You raced up to the police officers with a distressed look on your face. "Officers, this is my house, what happened?" you said, on the verge of tears.</p><p>Two of the men turned to you. One of them was tall, with neat blond hair and a serious expression on his face. The other was slightly shorter, with dark hair and a silver crutch. "We're Agents Thompson and Sousa with the SSR," the blond one asked. "This is your house?"</p><p>"It is, I was just at the grocery store, oh my god," you said. "Do you know what happened?"</p><p>The two men weren't answering, so you craned your neck to try and look past them. You saw some firefighters emerge from the house, holding a stretcher between them, with a charred, blackened mass lying on it. Your hands flew up to cover your mouth, but internally you were hoping that your acting was good enough. You couldn't afford to go to jail for murder. You started to shove past the two men, but one of them wrapped his arms around your body and held you back.</p><p>"Ma'am, you need to stay here, it's not safe," you heard one of them say, and you knew you had to kick it up a notch. "But my husband is still at home!" you said, straining against his grip. "Where is he?"</p><p>You felt the grip on you lessen, and you were able to break out from the hold. You watched the two agents exchange looks of concern, and that told you everything you needed to know, that it was indeed your husband's charred remains lying on the stretcher they brought out of the flames. "Ma'am-" one of the agents started to say.</p><p>"My husband, where is he?" you repeated, and you felt your eyes well with tears. This would have actually been a shock if you hadn't orchestrated the entire thing.</p><p>The blond agent promised to find out, and you were soon left with the other. "I'm sorry that this happened," he said kindly.</p><p>You nodded in response. "Thank you." <em>If you only knew the truth</em>, you couldn't help but think.</p><p>The other agent walked back over to you with a grim look on his face. "Was your husband home alone?" he asked.</p><p>"Yes," you said. "I left to go to the store after dinner, and he was drinking a glass of brandy. No one else was here."</p><p>"They haven't been able to get an I.D. yet, because the body is extremely charred, but most likely it is your husband," he said, looking down at the ground. " I'm so sorry ma'am."</p><p>That's when you broke down. Deep, ugly sobs burst from your throat, and you sank to the ground. And as much as this was all for show, there was a part of you that was really mourning. You weren't mourning for your husband, that's for damn sure, but you were mourning for the life you lead, the pain you had felt for these years. You were so close to freedom that you could taste it.</p><p>All you had to do was make it through the wake and the funeral, and then you could move on. Do whatever you want, live wherever you want, with whoever you want.</p><p>And despite the circumstances, despite the fire and the smoke and the pain you were faking for the attention, you felt joy. <em>Because you were finally free. </em></p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. This World Will Remember Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: mentions of past abuse, descriptions of violence and death</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You couldn't breathe easy until the wake and funeral was over, but there wasn't much to worry about. The police had found the cigarette that you had placed in his grip, and combined with what you said about him drinking on the couch, they concluded that he passed out and dropped the smoldering cigarette to the floor, where it ignited. Had Johnny been awake, he might have been able to control the fire. You nodded tearfully as this was explained to you, playing the role of the grieving widow. </p><p>His death was ruled accidental, and the case was sewn up tight. You knew the police didn't like to deal with the mafia, and this time that played in your favor. </p><p>You were living with you sister for the time being, due to the fact that your house was destroyed.  Now your biggest problem was deciding what you were going to do. You had no blood connection to the mob, so you weren't sure if you were still considered part of their family, should you even want to keep speaking to them. And if Johnny had been bad-mouthing you to his family, it was doubtful they'd want to continue to talk to you, even if they didn't know you killed their son. </p><p>So when your sister walked into the room and said that there were people there that wanted to speak to you, you were confused. You shuffled into the room to find your brother-in-law, Jimmy "The Enforcer" Natale, and your husband's former bodyguard, Richie, whose last never you never actually picked up.  "Y/N!" Jimmy said as you walked in, arms outstretched for a hug. You actually liked your husband's younger brother, and the two of you had always gotten on pretty well. That didn't mean you weren't confused about why he was here though. </p><p>"Jimmy? What's going on?" you asked.  </p><p>He smiled as he handed you a document. "Read it," he said, smiling. </p><p>You were still wary of him, so you took the papers from his outstretched hand and started to flip through them. The entire room was silent as everyone watched you read through the pages.  When you finally finished, you looked up in shock. "Are you serious?" </p><p>"As a bullet wound," Jimmy said, smiling. "It's all yours now, should you want it." </p><p>You didn't know how to respond. Printed on that official looking paper, was your husband's last will and testament.  And in big letters, signed by your now-dead husband, was the recommendation that you take over the mob. The date next to his scrawled name was the day after your wedding. Should you accept, you would inherit all of his riches, including all his businesses, the house (even though doesn't really matter anymore) <em>and</em> you would be named the head of the "family business." </p><p>"What if I don't accept?" you asked Jimmy. "It's just such a shock." </p><p>"If you don't want to take over the family business, you would still inherit half of Johnny's cash assets," Richie said. "You would have gotten the house too, but sadly that's not really a playing piece anymore." </p><p>"Do I have to make the decision right now?" you asked. </p><p>"No, you can take as much time as you need," Jimmy said. "It's completely up to you." </p><p>You thanked them and told Jimmy that you would reach out to him when you made your decision. Him and Richie then got up and left, but not before handing you a sealed envelope with the words "Mrs. John Samuel Natale" written on it.  </p><p>After the door shut, you sank into a chair and gently tore the wax seal to open the envelope. It was a letter, written in your now-dead husband's handwriting. It was obviously written before you were married, because the top of the page read "My Dearest Wife." With the tumultuous relationship the two of you had, you highly doubted you were his dearest anything, other than maybe his dearest punching bag. You shook your head and started to read through the rest of the letter. </p><p>
  <em>My Dearest Wife,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If  you're reading this, something tragic has happened to me. If I have been murdered, it was most likely someone close to me. I don't trust my family, because they are the type that can smile at you while they have a knife in your heart.  Because I don't trust them, I've written my last will and testament to mandate that control of the mafia be passed on to you. Should you accept it, you would have control of all the assets, connections, and business that the group does. The buck would stop with you, not anyone else. You would be Queen of New York, and the rest of city would be beneath you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The decision is up to you. My family may be ruthless at times, but they will respect what's in my will, and they will work with you, should you choose to pick up where I left off. If you don't want to keep living that lifestyle, that is fine. Hopefully half of my cash assets is enough to allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your husband, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>John Samuel Natale</em>
</p><p>You didn't want to give in to his wishes, and you were ready to kiss the life you led for so long goodbye, but you couldn't stop thinking about one sentence in that letter. </p><p>
  <em>You would be Queen of New York, and the rest of city would be beneath you.</em>
</p><p>That was tempting. You had lived for so long as nothing but a trophy, something to be shown off at dinner parties, that you enjoyed the thought of people doing your bidding. You had originally planned on just getting away, moving someplace and starting a completely new life, because you never expected this. But maybe you could still get that fresh start, without moving thousands of miles away. </p><p>***</p><p>You called Jimmy up the next day and told him that you were going to accept what it said in the will.  And almost instantly, you life completely changed. You suddenly had it all, a new house (even bigger than the one you burnt down), a bodyguard that never left your side, and the ability to make any decision you wanted about <em>anything</em>, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. </p><p>Your dead husband was right about one thing in his letter: that his family wasn't going to take the news lying down. They liked you when you were just Johnny's wife, when they only saw you at weddings and on holidays, when all you could talk about was where you were going to go shopping and how bad Aunt Ro's hair looked that day (did she <em>pay</em> for those waves or was a bird trapped in her hair?) But now that you were in charge, their attitude towards you changed.  The room would go quiet as you walked in, and key pieces of information were being kept from you. </p><p>But if they thought that you were going to lay down and relinquish some of your power because you had only married into the Natale family, they were dead wrong. You've always had a sharp tongue, but it only got sharper as you took control of the mob. And like Johnny had said, his family may not have liked the new situation, but they respected what was in his will, and soon tensions had calmed a little. </p><p>You went through a physical transformation too. After you realized that no one was going to listen to you if you continued to project the meek and quiet image of yourself, your personality completely changed. You carried yourself with more confidence, and soon your look reflected that as well. The outfits that you had saved for big events now became your daily style, and the heels you wore got higher by the day. People said that you were dressed to kill, but they didn't know you already had.</p><p>Everyone around you started to look at you differently, and you were now someone to respect, someone to be feared. At first it felt wrong, to bark orders like a drill sergeant, to strut through the house like you owned the world, but as time went on, it got a lot easier. Maybe you were losing your humanity because you now had a large role in the "family business," but if you were being completely honest with yourself, you had lost your humanity before you took over the mob. </p><p>When you poured your husband that spiked drink, when you placed the smoldering cigarette loosely in his grip, when you committed murder and arson in the same night, that's when you lost the last of your humanity. But it's what you had to do, because this world wasn't kind to people like you. If you had to fight bitterly for even the smallest of victories, so be it. </p><p>You signed illegal trade deals with a flourish, occasionally with a little heart hovering next to your name. You worked with every villain around, from greasy loan sharks to greedy bounty hunters.  A man could be bleeding out on the floor of your office and you still wouldn't look up from the cup of coffee you were nursing. It was what what he deserved, and you were the one who had ordered his death anyway. </p><p>Johnny had said that you would be the Queen of New York, but that wasn't true. Now, you were the Empress, and everyone out there knew it. </p><p>It wasn't a shock to find out that Johnny had been doing some shifty things with foreign organizations. You remembered men with German accents that used to occasionally show up to your dinner parties, and you were almost positive that there was some Nazi gold hidden away with the rest of your riches. It also wasn't a shock to find out that Johnny was planning to swindle his German associates, and that they had caught wind of it. You had to do some major damage control to placate the men who came to see you, so they wouldn't shoot you right then and there. You made them well aware of the fact that Johnny was dead now, that control of the mob had gone to you, and you were not someone to be messed with. </p><p>And if one of the Germans went home that night with a nasty bruise from where you "accidentally" jammed your heel into his foot, so be it. There wasn't much that scared you anymore. You had seen too much and lived too long in this cruel world for that.  </p><p>Looking in the mirror, you could barely recognize the person you were before all this. Your lips formed a permanent scowl, blood red from the lipstick you never went anywhere without.  There was no kindness left in your eyes, nothing left of the sweet girl that married the King of New York. You had seen the worst of humanity, watched men take their last breaths and feel nothing but vindication, and didn't feel a hint of remorse for any of it. </p><p>This is who you were now. </p><p>And you could thank your dead husband for that. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bad to Be Good</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: mentions of death and violence</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"There's been some talk on the streets that HYDRA is rebuilding and planning something on American soil," the chief told Agents Jack Thompson and Daniel Sousa one morning in his office.  "And there's also been talk that they're in contact with groups based in New York, most likely some form of organized crime." </p><p>Jack nodded, and Daniel was scribbling down notes. "What do you want us to do sir?" he asked. </p><p>"The best first step would be to find out who they're in contact with, and if they're already here," the chief said. "Then, we can work on ways to get through and eliminate them." </p><p>After the rest of the briefing, the two agents stepped out of the chief's office. "Where do you think we should start?" Daniel asked. </p><p>"Chief said organized crime, right?" Jack said. "Maybe we should look into that mob family we just dealt with. I think the guy who got torched was the head of the mob, and that could definitely be HYDRA's doing if he double-crossed them." </p><p>"I thought the police report said the death was ruled as an accident?" Daniel asked. "That Natale was drinking, and that's why he dropped the cigarette." </p><p>"Or it could have been an elaborate plan," Jack said. "They could have had someone staking out the house, and once Natale's wife left, they set everything up. I definitely think it's worth looking into." </p><p>Daniel nodded. "I'll start looking into other sections of organized crime in the area in the meantime, see if I can dig anything up. This guy was the king of the underground in the city, he was bound to have enemies and rivals." </p><p>***</p><p>Almost immediately, Jack ran into a few issues. One of them was that the known head of the mob had just died, so he had no idea who was next in line for control. No one had gotten any news about the mob's dissolution, and this was a family group, so it was safe to say that there was a new sheriff in town. Jack would just have to figure out who it was. </p><p>In order to do that, he started tailing known members of the family, watching their routines, trying to figure out which one of them now had more power than most people in the state. Out of all the organized crime in the city, this family was by far the most powerful. They ran everything, and if they didn't run it, they were blackmailing the person who did. When people called Johnny Natale "the King of New York," they weren't kidding. </p><p>The SSR was always told to work around the mob whenever possible, because it was just never worth it to tangle with them most of the time. The only time Jack had spoken to anyone directly associated with them was when he consoled you at the site of the fire. But Jack didn't really think talking to a mob king's crying widow really counted. From his limited interaction with you, it didn't seem like you really knew anything about your husband's business dealings. he guessed that you knew he was in the mafia, and that your husband had been the leader, but he didn't think that you would be able to name specific business partners or be able to tell if your husband was working with HYDRA. And according to the information he was able to dig up about you, the reason you married him in the first place was so that your father's debt could be wiped clean. You were a trophy wife. </p><p>He put his ear to the ground, trying to figure out who had taken over the mob. But there were no changes in anyone's routine. Jack tailed them all: the brother, the mother, the father, even the endless stream of aunts, uncles, and cousins, no matter what their relationship to the mob was. But nothing seemed to change. </p><p>But it wasn't until he saw you walked down the street one day with two bodyguards surrounding you did he start to put the pieces together. He stopped tailing all the other members of the family and only focused on you. At first, it didn't seem like it was going to be worth it, because you seemed to act like every other grieving widow.  Your expressions were always somber (which was understandable for your situation), but the constant presence of your bodyguards put Jack on edge. </p><p>He only figured out the truth about you by accident, if he was being completely honest. He was staking out your house (which was infinitely nicer than the one that burned down a few weeks ago), when he watched a man stumble out the front door, limping slightly. That piqued Jack's interest, and he started to tail this man instead.  He made it about two blocks before the guy collapsed on the pavement, and Jack took the opportunity to go over and try to get some information from him, under the guise of being a good Samaritan. He noticed the man's head was bleeding slightly from where he hit the pavement, but there was also an indent on his cheek, like he'd been punched in the face by someone wearing something on their fingers. </p><p>A ring, perhaps? He had noticed that you had a pretty big rock on your finger, an ostentatious engagement ring that was most likely some mob family heirloom.  And the indent on the man's cheek looked like it could be a match.  After helping the man get back up (along with a few other passerby that had much more valiant reasons than he did), he finally came to the stunning conclusion: that you, mob king's widow, were the one running the city, that the woman he had overlooked had been the one who now had her hand in almost every dirty dealing in New York. </p><p>At least he knew who was running the show now, he just had to figure out if you was working with HYDRA or not. So he did the only thing he could think to do, regardless of how stupid of an idea it was: he made an appointment to see you. Thankfully, whoever they had answering the phone wasn't that bright, because Jack was sure that there was several inaccuracies in the information he provided and several plot holes in the backstory he came up with. But it got him in the door. </p><p>You recognized him almost instantly, despite having been a wreck when the two of you first met.  But you looked like a completely different person to him. You were lounging back in a huge chair, and it might as well have been a throne for you. Your makeup was dark, and Jack couldn't help but be drawn to your red lips.  When you stood up to greet him, you were much taller than you were that day that he met you, he noted, as he got a glimpse of the shoes that you were wearing - taller than any shoes he'd ever seen before. Your lips were fixed in a permanent scowl and your eyes held no kindness in them.  </p><p>"Agent Thompson," you greeted, lips curling into a smile that never made it to your eyes. She motioned for her bodyguards to leave the room, and soon the two of them were alone. "What brings you here?" </p><p>"I'm on a case, and I think you might have some information for me," he said, offering no pleasantries. </p><p>"And why would I willingly help you?" It was like you were mocking him. "We both know that the police and the mafia don't mix, so why would I stick my neck out for you?"</p><p>"Because-" </p><p>"And don't think about pulling out the classic threat, the 'because I can take you and your organization down,' you wouldn't be able to lay a finger on me, and I could have you murdered right here if I wanted to. If I was going to help you, it would be out of the goodness of my own heart."</p><p>"So why don't you kill me now then?" he was calling your bluff and you knew it. </p><p>"Honestly? I just bought that rug and I'd rather not get blood all over it," you said tiredly. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to help you." </p><p>The rest of your conversation continued in the same way, and Jack left your home that day with a sour taste in his mouth. He was going to find out the truth about you, and if he stepped on some toes along the way, so be it. <em>You just made the wrong enemy,</em> he thought to himself as the cab pulled away from the front gates of your house. <em>You just made the wrong enemy.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Angel of Small Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: depictions of violence, implied sexual content, mentions of past abuse, some language</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The chief didn't really believe Jack was being serious when he said he wanted to open a full investigation into the your dealings and whereabouts. You had fooled everyone well, and outside of your reputation in the criminal underworld, you were seen as nothing more than a grieving widow. And honestly, even those you did business with only had an inkling of who you really were.</p><p>It was even hard for you to tell what aspects of your personality were real and what was fake, because you had to change who you were at a moment's notice. Nothing came easy when you're the woman running New York City's most prominent mafia, that's for sure. The perks that came with the family's reputation were canceled out by the fact that you had to work twice as hard to garner the same respect your husband did when he was still alive.</p><p>You eventually started to receive what was owed to you as the head of the mob and the Empress of New York, but you worked twice as hard for it, and spilled twice as much blood. Your life wasn't easy, it hadn't been since you met your now-dead husband, and you were willing to push people around to get what you wanted.</p><p>No one had really tried to stand in your path in the way that Agent Thompson was, at least in law enforcement. You dealt with dissenters, thieves, and cheats privately and quietly, often in your home or office, making sure they never tried any of that shit again. And if the local funeral home was ever suspicious about the number of bodies that showed up on their doorstep, dressed in beggar's rags and bearing not a hint of identification, they never said anything about it. You always made sure they were well funded though, with state of the art equipment and monetary donations, all from an "anonymous patron."</p><p>But as much as inviting Jack Thompson over for tea and watching him bleed out on the floor was what you wanted to do, you had to play your cards right, and not act irrationally. The SSR was more advanced and better equipped than a police precinct, so you couldn't expect to get away with everything that you usually got away with. You had capitalized on the general aversion that law enforcement had for you and your obvious misdoings, but Agent Thompson had made things clear that he was going to try and take you down. It was a shame too, for his pretty face to be wasted on such an uptight personality. He was undeniably attractive, and the tension between the two of you was electric. If he wasn't a federal agent, you might have took him out for a night or two, woken up with him the next morning. He was pretty, and he seemed like he could show a girl a good time, but unfortunately his job put your fun in jeopardy. </p><p>You weren't looking for a relationship, and you definitely weren't going to rush into another one after you had finally freed yourself from Johnny's clutches, but that didn't mean you weren't going to deprive yourself of some fun every so often. You tended to choose your targets randomly, and you never stayed for breakfast. If any of them realized who you were after the fact, they never said anything. If they did, you might just have to kill them. </p><p>Right now though, your life was consumed with something other than your romantic endeavors (if they could even be called romantic): the biggest event of the year for the Natale family, a fundraiser for one of the many companies that served as a front for the "family business." You didn't really care what lies they put on their tax forms, because at the end of the day, your mother-in-law's dog walker had a more legitimate claim to business than they did. But this "fundraiser" was still the most important night of the year for a lot of the family. Whatever your opinion on the night's polite extortion was, you were still a little bit excited to go. In the past, this night was one of the few nights a year where you could smile and laugh without fear of consequence, and you could forget about the horrible life you led, even if it was just for a fleeting moment. </p><p>You no longer had to look forward to gala nights if you didn't want to, because you had sorted out the issue. But you'd be lying if you said you wanted to cancel the event, because it was also an excuse for you to get dressed up.  You also had a bit of pressure on you as well. This event would dictate how the mob is run for the next year, based on how much money is brought in. Although the Natale family had warmed up to the idea of you running the mob since Johnny died and there had been no major issues, if something went wrong at the gala, there was sure to be a problem. And you definitely didn't want that. </p><p>Luckily for you, everything was going to plan so far when you arrived at the gala. Hopefully the rest of the night could pass without incident. </p><p>***</p><p>Jack Thompson didn't know what he was expecting when he walked into the ballroom of the gala, but this wasn't it. The band played brightly as people packed the dance floor, laughing and smiling. He knew that this was a front, and that the people here today would vehemently deny any involvement in the criminal underworld, but part of his mind still expected the place to be dull and boring. He had gotten in because of a false identity from the SSR, so for the night he was no longer Jack Thompson, he was Thomas Brightwell, an independent businessman and potential investor to the company. Or at least, that's what it said on his RSVP. </p><p>He wasn't looking for you, but there was no way he could have missed you. In a room of the most prominent criminals and thieves, you looked like an angel. Which was ironic, he thought to himself, because you probably have more blood on your hands than anyone else in the room. </p><p>Although you looked completely different than normal, he could still pick you out of the crowd in a second. Your gown was floor length (a far cry from the shorter skirts you favored for daily wear), and every step you took looked like you were floating across the floor. It had long sleeves, large shoulder pads, and a neckline that exposed just a hint of cleavage. The ostentatious ring on your finger shined from across the room, as did the matching necklace and earrings you wore. For just a moment, Jack's brain stopped. There was no mistaking that you were the one in charge here. Everyone else only paled in comparison.</p><p>The one thing that didn't change though, was your expression. Your lips were the same crimson color as always, and they were drawn in your signature scowl. He watched you make small talk with others in attendance, faking smiles and giggles, but your face always returned to its resting grimace. He couldn't take his eyes of you, and he didn't, not until he heard someone clear their throat next to him. "She'd eat you alive son." </p><p>"Huh?" Jack turned to see a middle aged man standing next to him, an expression on his face that Jack couldn't quite read. </p><p>"Natale," the man said, nodding in your direction. "I saw the way you were looking at her. But she's not the type for relationships anymore, not after her husband died." </p><p>"Do you know why?" Jack asked.  He was interested to see how the rest of the criminal underworld saw you, what they said behind your back. </p><p>"Devotion, maybe," the man said. "The Kid left everything to her, so he had to damn well trust her. I don't really get involved with her. You say one wrong thing and your head becomes a decoration in her parlor, it's safer just to do business from a distance."</p><p>"Yeah, that's probably it," Jack said, turning to steal another glance at you. "What-" he started to say to the man as he turned back, only to find that there was no one standing next to him. He looked around, but it was like the man was never there. He shook his head and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He needed a drink. </p><p>***</p><p>Jack continued to stand on the outskirts of the gala and interact with those who passed by, offering small smiles, complaining about the weather (it's simply too unpredictable, you know?), and laughing at boring anecdotes. And so far, he was turning up with nothing that he could use. </p><p>His luck only further ran out when he felt someone grab his arm and pull him onto the dance floor. And of all the possible people he thought it might be, you definitely weren't on that list. He opened his mouth to say something, but you spoke first. "You think I don't know what you're doing?" you hissed. "I could blow your cover right now if I wanted to, in a room full of your enemies. What do you think they'd do if they found out you worked for law enforcement? An entire room of people who could end your life in a moment? Then again, they might leave you to me, and that definitely wouldn't be a pleasant death." </p><p>"Then what do you want from me?"</p><p>"We're going to finish this dance, and then you're going to take your pretty face right out that door and leave." </p><p>"You think I'm pretty?" he asked boldly, raising an eyebrow. Maybe he shouldn't have provoked you, but he couldn't help himself. </p><p>You leaned in close, so that your lips were just ghosting his ear. Thanks to the towering shoes you wore, you were almost as tall as him. "I do, but you know what I do with pretty things?"you whispered. "I hang them on my wall, to watch as I bring more evil into the world. So yeah, you're as pretty as a painting." He couldn't help the quick look of fear that crossed his face, or the slight twitch of arousal he felt. </p><p>The song faded to an end, but Jack didn't stay long enough to dance for another. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of murder, mentions of past abuse</p><p>*this chapter is very intense! if you’re uncomfortable with any of the warnings, you can skip this chapter and i can catch you up in the next one*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The gala had gone well, and you were thankful for that. Other than the fact that you had an unwelcome visitor in SSR agent Jack Thompson (or Thomas Brightwell, according to the event register), the shell company had actually exceeded their goal for “charitable donations,” which meant that Cousin Tommy could <em>finally</em> get off your back about getting funding for that beach house he’s been after, the one that he tried to get you to pay for because it would “be beneficial for the whole family.” </p><p>So it seemed that everything would be quiet for a little while, and that the biggest thing you would have to worry about would be the businesses you sponsored paying their dues.  When people said that you ran the city, they meant it, and getting on your good side (and by extension, the rest of the family’s good side) could mean the difference between turning a profit for the business, or going bankrupt. You would offer to sponsor businesses that you liked, and you would pay their property taxes and other government fees in exchange for a small cut of their profit, and free products of course. And if they failed to pay up when the time came, they would be bankrupt in months, or the owner would mysteriously disappear. It was a shame about that cafe on 63rd, you haven’t been able to find a latte as good as that one was. </p><p>But unfortunately luck didn’t seem to be on your side, because one day you had a surprise visitor.  “Mrs. Natale,” a man with a heavy German accent greeted you as he stepped into your office. </p><p>But you hadn’t scheduled a meeting with anyone, and it was barely 9 o’clock in the morning, so it was safe to say that you weren’t really in the mood to deal with them.  “I’d ask you what you want, but I don’t care.” </p><p>“Is that any way to talk to your business partners?” the German said, crossing his arms.</p><p>You shrugged. “What use have you been to me?” </p><p>“You’re still alive, aren’t you? That should be enough of an indication,” he said, drawing a gun from his coat and pointing it at you. </p><p>It was at this point where you decided to put your cup of coffee down, and walk around your desk to stand in front of him. With the heels you were wearing, you were practically the same height. “It’s you who should be thanking your lucky stars you’re still breathing,” you said, tilting your head slightly. </p><p>“I could kill you right now if I wanted to,” the German said, as if that could scare you. </p><p>“Do you really not know who you’re dealing with?” you asked, shaking your head at the audacity he had. “I’ve spilled blood to take every step up the ladder of success, and I’ve never batted an eyelash. How do you think I got here in the first place? You really think Johnny died by accident, don’t you? I was done being his puppet, and I could do far worse to you, because back then I still had a shred of humanity in me. That’s long gone now, so I wouldn’t test myself if I were you.” </p><p>Things went a lot better between you after that.  You still didn’t trust him or his organization, and you were almost positive that those guys were the reason that the SSR had really taken interest in you and your business. Law enforcement never really bothered with the mob before, partially because you had blackmail material on half the cops in the city, but partially because nothing you did ever had a trail. There was a reason you were the best at what you did, because no illegal industry you had your hand in could ever be traced back to you. You could walk into any police precinct in the city and they wouldn’t be able to touch you.</p><p>And if anyone dared to challenge you, you could make their life a living hell. </p><p>***</p><p>What you didn’t know was that your brother in law was standing right outside your office door at the moment when you admitted to killing your husband.</p><p>
  <em>You really think Johnny died by accident, don’t you?</em>
</p><p>He didn’t want to believe it, that you had killed his brother. He almost couldn’t believe it, because if you had killed him to gain control of the mob, you did a really good job in convincing him that you had no idea about his will. He didn’t know what his brother did for you to kill him over it either. He knew you, or at least he thought he did, and he didn’t think you would kill anyone if you didn’t have a good reason to. </p><p>Maybe it wasn’t true, he thought to himself. Maybe you had just said that to intimidate whoever you were meeting with, and Johnny’s death really had been an accident. He remembered the days after Johnny’s death, and you had been a wreck.  It was almost difficult to watch you at the funeral, eyes red and puffy, and you had broken down halfway through the service. Surely you couldn’t fake your emotions that much? </p><p>But at the same time, there was a part of him that knew you were capable. Since you had become the head of the family business, he had watched you change into the ruthless woman you were today. </p><p>
  <em>He had walked into your office when he was early for a meeting to see you sitting at your desk, feet up and sipping a cup of coffee, while a man bled out on the floor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We finished up a little early,” you had said when Jimmy made to leave. “You’re welcome to just sit down and we can chat.” So he stepped over the slowly expanding pool of blood on the floor and sat down in front of your desk. “Want a coffee?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jimmy may have been born into the mob, but he had always stayed away from the whole “dead bodies” aspect of it. He handled some of the finances, some of the shell companies, and he would often travel the country on “official business,” which was just an excuse for him to go to clubs and sleep around, if he was being completely honest. But you were completely numb to the violent aspect of your life, so it wasn’t too much of a leap to believe that maybe you had killed your husband, and you were just really good at deception. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Where Jimmy made his grave mistake though, was when he asked  you about it. You were faced with a choice: tell him, or play it off as a joke. You kept your expression as neutral as you could, even though your brain was running hundreds of miles and hour, trying to decide what to do in seconds. </p><p>You knew what you had to do, you just didn’t want to do it. But Jimmy was a liability, a threat to the legacy you were so carefully crafting for yourself. This family was ruthless enough without knowing that you had killed one of their own. </p><p>“You did, didn’t you?” he was in shock, but there was no going back now. “Oh my god you killed my brother.” </p><p>He looked like he was about to throw up, which honestly didn’t surprise you. Jimmy was always the weaker of the two brothers, and there was a reason no one really trusted him enough to tell him about the inner workings of the mob. “Yeah, I did kill Johnny,” you growled. “But you had no idea of the hell he put me through on a daily basis. No one in this family did, because not a single person gave a shit about me before I was the one signing the paychecks, and even then I had to fight tooth and nail for that. He deserved every second of pain he experienced as far as I’m concerned, because he’s the one who made me like this. You don’t marry ‘The King of New York’ without learning a little something, that’s for damn sure.” </p><p>He was backing away from you, but eventually he hit the wall. There was nowhere else to go. You almost let him go too, if he hadn’t tried to fight back. You had planned to kill him quietly, painlessly, with dignity. But when he pulled a gun from his suit jacket and held it towards you, you were done being nice. </p><p>It was over seconds later, with the flash of your knife and a groan of pain from Jimmy as he sank to the floor. You weren’t there when Johnny had died, so it was almost easier to write off his death. But you watched as the light left your brother-in-law’s eyes, just as you had watched countless others, and something tugged at your heart. Maybe it was because you knew him personally, and he wasn’t just some brute who wanted to try to pull one over on you and cheat you out of a couple hundred dollars.  </p><p>But none of that mattered now. He was nothing more than a bloodstain on your floor, a piece of the decor that proved you weren’t someone to be messed with. Now, you had a body to dispose of. </p><p>You didn’t want to have to explain yourself to anyone else in the family, but luckily Jimmy had already done some of the legwork for you.  He had recently emptied his bank account, so it wasn’t too difficult to make it look like he had simply decided to “disappear.” You disposed of some choice items, like clothes, personal keepsakes, and other things one might want to take with them if they were leaving for good, and just like that, selling the lies became so much easier. He was always the weakest cousin, and you didn’t even have to bring up the idea that he might have just run off at the next family meeting, your mother-in-law said it first. All you had to do was second the opinion. </p><p>In this world, you couldn’t afford to be weak.  You worked hard to get to where you were, and you weren’t willing to let anyone jeopardize the life you had built for yourself. </p><p>No matter who they were. </p><p>
  <em>- end of part five - </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Dancing With a Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i am back with this fic! it's still a back burner project, but i'm going to try and work on it a little more as time goes on :) </p>
<p>chapter warnings: descriptions of violence, mentions of abuse, some language</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was one thing you did miss about not being the head of the most dangerous mob family in New York: and it was the fact that other than the abuse you suffered at home, your life was rarely in danger when you were out in public. But now that you ran the city, your head was a target when you walked down the street.  The police never bothered you, so it wasn’t them you had to worry about, but rather the other people in the city who felt the rules didn’t apply to them. You hoped the local funeral homes were happy enough with all the new clients you brought them, because some people never seemed to learn their lesson. </p>
<p>But now, things were starting to change, and you felt like more people were out to get you. It started a little bit after you killed Jimmy, but you didn’t think there was any correlation between the two events. The rest of the family was still under the impression that Jimmy had emptied his bank account and ran away to go party in Europe, and you didn’t feel the need to tell them the truth about the matter. </p>
<p>You chalked it up to your German friends, the ones who never wanted to cooperate with you but still wanted the protections that your business could offer them. You had worked with some pretty shady people before, it was the nature of the business, but there was something different about these guys. You weren’t afraid of them (at this point, you didn’t think you had enough humanity in you to be afraid of anything), but you were willing to bet your left arm that they were part of the reason that you didn’t feel as safe in the world anymore. </p>
<p>You had never gotten along with your German associates, because you took over right as they were starting to suspect that your husband had been planning to double cross them, which he was, if you hadn’t killed him when you did. It took a lot of smoothing over to convince them that they should even continue to work with you, and you often wondered if that was really the right choice. You couldn’t change your actions now, and you had to be really careful about your next steps.  If they really were behind the influx of people trying to kill you at the present moment, you had to keep them close. It was imperative for you that you maintained the upper hand, and now you understood why Johnny had been planning to double cross them. </p>
<p>Things really changed when you were startled awake to the sound of a gunshot in the middle of the night.  You opened your eyes to see the window in your bedroom break, and through the city lights you could make out a bullet hole in the wall. If you had raised your head to see what was going on, it might have hit you. </p>
<p>Rolling gracefully off the bed and onto the floor, you weren’t sure what to do. You didn’t have one of the fancy new alarm systems that some of the family did, because you honestly didn’t trust the police to do their jobs, so now you were on your own. There were bodyguards around your house all the time, but you didn’t know if they had been injured, or worse - killed. When you finally plucked up the courage to peek out the window, you didn’t see anyone outside, but you heard the voices of some of the guards. You let out a breath of relief and stood up off the floor. </p>
<p>Too much adrenaline was running through your body for you to go back to bed, and so you sat at the kitchen table, contemplating what your next move would be. A steaming mug of tea sat in front of you, but you barely touched it. You honestly had half a mind to crack open that bottle of brandy you've been holding yourself back from, because this obviously was an extenuating circumstance. </p>
<p>There was no way you could take this lying down. You knew that this was only the beginning, and that things would continue to escalate unless something was done about it.  </p>
<p>You sat there for what felt like hours, staring at the wall. When you finally did feel yourself start to grow tired, you knew what you had to do, but you knew you weren’t going to like it. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>If he wasn’t at his desk, Jack Thompson could be found pacing the conference room at any given moment, muttering nonsense. His personal crusade to take down the mob queen of the city had become the laughingstock of the office, because they knew how good you ran your businesses, and that there was nothing Jack could do to catch you. Some of the agents still didn’t even believe that you were the person he should be going after, because they saw you by the image you put out: the mob king’s grieving widow. </p>
<p>He continued to tail you from a distance, but he at least learned something at the gala, that nothing good would come from confronting you.  He was at a loss for what to do, and it got to the point that he was questioning why he was so desperate to catch you. <em>You had broken the law</em>, was what kept telling himself. You broke the law when you murdered, cheated, and stole from whoever you wanted to, and you shouldn’t be able to get away with that. </p>
<p>It had come to a point where even Jack knew that trying to arrest you would be useless. He had been reduced to scouring through any resource he could get his hands on, hoping that a way to take down the most powerful mob family in New York would just magically present itself to him. </p>
<p>What he didn’t expect though, was to find a scarlet envelope on his kitchen table when he got home from work one day.  His name was displayed in white ink on the outside, and he hesitated to open it. He knew who it was from before he even got the seal open, though he did wonder how you managed to get someone in and out of his locked apartment without being noticed. </p>
<p>The paper inside was crisply folded, and it had a date, time, and address scribbled onto it, along with what looked like a scrawled signature at the bottom of the page. He flipped the page, and saw writing on the other side. </p>
<p>
  <em>Think carefully about the consequences of your actions. Oh, and come alone.</em>
</p>
<p>He considered not showing up, because why should he? You had done nothing but threaten and antagonize him since the moment you met, what made this any different? He could be walking into a death trap, with this being the invitation to his death. </p>
<p>But then again, he argued with himself, not showing up to this mysterious meeting could also be a death sentence. He had learned his lesson about underestimating you, and the fact that you (or one of your henchmen) had gotten into his house to deliver this note was unsettling. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The address on that piece of paper led him to a dilapidated hotel on the outskirts of the city. Jack had in fact come alone, but he was starting to wish that he had at least told someone where he was going to be. He pulled open the door to hear it creak loudly, and he stepped over the dusty debris on the ground, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. There was another red envelope sitting on what he assumed used to be the front desk, and he picked it up. A gold key fell out, along with a small slip on paper that read “308.” </p>
<p><em>There was no going back now</em>, Jack thought as he pocketed the key and the envelope and began to climb the stairs (seriously though, why couldn’t you just pick a room on the first floor?). When he finally reached the third floor, he scanned the tarnished number plates on the doors until he found the right one. The lock clicked open when he put the key in, and he tentatively stepped inside. </p>
<p>It was nearly pitch-black, and the only light was coming from the cracks between the tightly drawn curtains.  The room was almost completely empty, except for a round table in the center of it. Jack could make out the shape of a person, but he wasn’t sure if it was you or not. </p>
<p>“Close the door,” your voice echoed through the room. “You can turn on the lights, but then sit.” </p>
<p>He didn’t argue with you, despite the fact that he wanted to, so he flipped the light switch and blinked as the room went bright. You were sitting at the table, but lounging back so that your feet were on another chair, a glass of what he assumed was red wine sitting in front of you. The matching blazer and dress pants you wore were a dark grey, and he could see the towering heels of your shoes on the chair. “What do you want?” he asked, wary of this entire situation. If he remembered correctly, the last time you two had been face to face was at the fundraiser gala, and you had basically told him to go to hell. </p>
<p>“The same thing you wanted when you first showed up in my office,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “Information, and I’m willing to make a deal for it.” </p>
<p>“Why should I cooperate with you?” he asked as he sat down in the empty chair. “You said it yourself: the police and the mafia don’t mix.” </p>
<p>“We have a common enemy,” you said, offering no further explanation. </p>
<p>That piqued his interest. “Who?” </p>
<p>“There’s an organization that my husband was working with, and when I took over I started working with,” you said. “Germans.” </p>
<p>“HYDRA?” </p>
<p>“That could be them. Your organization is targeting them, yes?” </p>
<p>“We’re also targeting you.” </p>
<p>You laughed, a sound just as indignant as the look you wore. “And how is that going for you?” You were mocking him at this point. His lips pursed into a scowl, and yours cracked a sick smile. “I see. What I’m presenting you with is a clear opportunity to get your hands on someone else on your list, provided you halt your little crusade and leave me alone after our business is complete.” </p>
<p>“And what if I refuse?” </p>
<p>“You won’t, because I know you. You see the value of this little deal, and you’re so close to taking it that it scares the shit out of you. But you’ve always done what was best for everyone else, because the government doesn’t give medals like that out to just anyone.” </p>
<p>You were right about every part of that statement, and it stung. “You didn’t answer my question.” </p>
<p>“What if you refuse?” you asked, downing the rest of your wine. “Then I’ll take down the organization myself without you, and then I’ll move on to taking down the SSR. Are you really going to let your pride jeopardize your future?” He didn’t answer, and after a while you grew impatient. “So, have you made a decision?” </p>
<p>“Fine,” he said. “But I’m not doing this for you.” </p>
<p>You smiled. “Oh don’t worry, I’m well aware of that, but I am happy you came to your senses. I’ll be in touch,” you said, and with that you got up from the table and walked right out of the hotel room, flipping off the light as you passed it. Jack sat in the dark and stared at the wall, wondering what the hell he had just agreed to. </p>
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  <em>- end of part six - </em>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Don't Turn Out Like Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, graphic description of blood, murder, strong language</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack Thompson felt like he was running in circles. This had to be some kind of sick joke, or a twisted ritual of some kind. He knew you didn’t trust him, and he didn’t trust you either, but this was a little excessive. </p><p>For one, you never communicated face to face. Everything was done through handwritten notes in the same kind of scarlet envelope that he had received the original summons in.  They were never stamped, which meant that someone was hand-delivering these letters to him, and the fact that they just appeared on the kitchen table inside his locked apartment just made it that much more worrying. And you had really thought of everything too, because when he was done with the “task” (or whatever other information you had decided to provide), he had to drop the papers in unassuming mailboxes all over the city. He knew why you were making him do that too, so if he got cold feet and tried to double cross you, there would be no hard evidence.  </p><p>The closer he got to you, the more he realized just how calculating you were, and how that was one of your greatest strengths. You never made a move without considering every single option, but you had to. When he was posing as a businessman at the gala, it felt like everyone there was holding their breath, as if they were waiting for something to go wrong.  It made sense once he considered your background though. You inherited an alarming amount of power in an extremely short amount of time, and he had watched his office underestimate you firsthand. It wasn’t that much of a jump to think that maybe the family you married into wasn’t too pleased about the power you now held over them. And because of the opposition you faced both inside and outside your own business, it was no wonder that you had adapted to not trust anyone. You simply couldn’t afford to let your guard down. </p><p>He found himself empathizing with your actions too much to write it off. It scared him, how easily he was able to push aside the heinous things you did and accept you into his life, even if he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He wondered about you constantly, and how you ended up as the Empress of New York. Official records could only tell him so much, and any records of your life after you married Johnny Natale were few and far between. The general consensus seemed to be that you were doing this out of devotion to your late husband, whose untimely death thrust you into a situation you weren’t quite ready for, but there was a nagging feeling in his head that everyone else had gotten it wrong.  All that time ago, when he had to keep you from running into the smoldering remains of your house, you flinched when he first made contact with your body, like he had hit bruises.  It was a tiny detail, but it left him wondering how devoted you actually were to your husband, and whether or not you had a hand in his demise. He certainly wouldn’t be surprised if he found out you had murdered him in cold blood, that’s for sure. </p><p>***</p><p>Okay, maybe you were being a little excessive with the errands you sent Thompson on, but you liked someone who could do the things you didn’t want to. You didn’t make him do anything too illegal, because then you ran the risk of him backing out of your deal, but it was nice to not have to tail your enemies yourself for once. Every step you made was planned out, and so far it was going well. </p><p>The stakes only got higher when you found out that two of the bounty hunters you regularly worked with had both been killed.  They were found in abandoned warehouses days apart from each other, both with blank stares on their faces and bullet holes in their foreheads. It was too eerie to brush off, even though the bodies were found miles apart.  </p><p>But the biggest reminder of the danger you were in at all times came when you had an unexpected visitor during the work day. You didn’t have any meetings that day, so you were automatically on edge when your secretary informed you that there was someone outside to see you. You asked if it was Thompson, maybe to say that he was done playing around, but the man that walked into your office definitely wasn’t Jack Thompson, and it was obvious he wasn’t here to bring good news.</p><p>Your posture shifted, and you immediately sat up straighter in your chair. Your hand hovered over the gun you kept strapped to the underside of your desk, and your stare hardened. “What do you want?” you asked evenly.  </p><p>“I want to know why I haven’t gotten my money yet,” he said gruffly, throwing a piece of paper down on your desk. You knew this was bullshit from the first word out of his mouth, because you didn’t owe money to anyone.  This happened every once in a while, where someone from a rival mob family would try to pull one over on you, or just someone who wanted to see if they could get away with it.  You haven’t been bested yet, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. </p><p>“I don’t owe you anything and you damn well know it,” you growled. </p><p>“Oh, I think you do,” he responded, pulling a pistol from his jacket and pointing it at you. </p><p>“Sorry excuse for a gun,” you said, drawing yours from the holster under the desk. It was probably double the size of his, and you smirked as you watched his face flicker. “If you’re going to come for me, you might as well try to bring a better weapon next time. You think people haven’t tried to do this to me before?” you asked as you stepped out from behind your desk. With every step you took closer to the man, he took a step back. With your towering heels, you were easily just as tall as he was. He obviously hadn’t prepared for you to put up a fight, because the fear in his eyes was obvious. “Sorry excuse for an attempted shakedown as well,” you muttered.</p><p>He seemed to have a little bit of courage left in him, because the gun was still pointed at your abdomen. “I won’t ask you again,” he said, but the tremor in his voice was unmistakable. </p><p>“Oh really? I don’t think so,” you said, as you backed him against the wall. “This isn’t my first time around the block, I know when someone has been hired to try and dupe me. Let’s see who it is this time huh?” you reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a business card. It was labeled with your name and a hefty sum of money, probably the reward he would get if he managed to kill you. If you were being completely honest, you felt that you were worth a little more than the number that was printed on the card, but that was beside the point. But what really caught your eye was the symbol that marked the back. You had seen it before, and the realization struck you. “Typical,” you scoffed. </p><p>But you “attacker” (if you could even call him that) didn’t seem to get the hint. “I’m not kidding,” he tried to say, but you just rolled your eyes. </p><p>Now you were growing impatient with him. “No, I’m growing impatient,” you said. “Why were you hired to kill me?” </p><p>“I don’t know what you me-”</p><p>“Cut the bullshit,” you said, pushing the barrel of your gun into his stomach, causing his own weapon to fall out of his grip. You kicked it out of his reach once you saw it drop to the floor. “If you value your pitiful little life, you’ll open your mouth and start talking, and if you say something good enough maybe I won’t shoot you where you stand.”</p><p>But apparently he was still trying the strongman act, because he reached out and knocked the gun from your hands. You heard it clatter to the floor beside you, but you were already two steps ahead of him. You jammed your knee into his groin, causing him to double over in pain, and then you grabbed his collar and pulled his body up to face you.Drawing your extra pistol from the holster on your thigh, you held it against his forehead. “Kill me then,” he taunted you. “Look into my eyes and pull that trigger, because I don’t think you can do it, bitch.” </p><p>“You don’t know the first thing I’m capable of,” you practically snarled. “And now you’re going to pay with your life.” </p><p>The gun went off before he had a chance to respond, and you stepped back as his lifeless body dropped to the floor. There was an hole in the wall where the bullet embedded itself, and the wall and floor were dripping with the remnants of his insides. Some of the splatter had gotten onto you as well, the droplets on your arms a testament to what you just did, <span>what you had done countless times before.</span> </p><p>It was a shame that it had to come to that, because he was young. But you also knew that you could never let him live, not after you knew who was pulling his strings. After your meeting with Jack, you had done some more research into your German associates, and now you could recognize that symbol anywhere.  This was the nail in the coffin for you. The gunshot through your window was only the beginning, and you weren’t even sure if you could blame it on them when it happened. Now, there was no refuting it. It was imperative that you take the organization down, because they were going to keep coming for you, no matter what you did. You cursed your late husband for many reasons, but this was a new one.  </p><p>Once your office was somewhat clean again (some stains you could never scrub away, so maybe it was time to repaint the room), you sat back in your chair and hatched a plan. You kept the business card with your name on it on your desk, propped up against a picture frame.  </p><p>It was a constant reminder that you couldn’t afford to fail.</p><p>
  <em>- end of part seven - </em>
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